


Consorting

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Appearances by Nahara Navra and Nazali, F/F, Mentions of the other princesses, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: When Nadia floats the idea of naming Portia her consort, she doesn’t expect Portia to become scarce, let alone to conspire with her sisters.





	Consorting

**Author's Note:**

> For Portia's birthday weekend and Femslash February.

“Your consort?” Portia squeaks.

Nadia pours more tea in Portia’s empty cup without regarding for her grabbing hands. If she were on duty, they would not be having this discussion.

“If it suits you.”

The light from Nadia’s chamber windows bends multiple halos around Portia’s loose hair. Nadia thinks of brushing it, as Portia has so often brushed hers, but that is an indulgence for another time. Instead, she folds her hands as she explains that despite the court’s complaints, she is not fussed about being married, especially after her last attempt. Vesuvia’s traditions for it are not even the same as those of her homeland. But if Portia is to appear in public beside her, without the problems associated with their stations, then consort is the most reasonable promotion.

Portia plays with one of her curls. It recalls the way she reaches for empty air over her shoulder when her hair is in a bun. “That, that makes sense. Well, I’m practically helping run Vesuvia anyhow, aren’t I?”

“Indeed, I am not sure how any of us would get by without you. I don’t intend to saddle you with this duty without your consideration. I’m only mentioning it for you to think on.” Nadia lifts her cup to her lips, unable to help sudden shyness. “It would be nice to spoil you without regard for who sees.”

That seems to ease Portia, who claps her hands. “That sounds wonderful.”

“As I said, it is for you to think on.” Nadia holds one of Portia’s hands over the table, her thumb stroking Portia’s curled fingers, and lets the gesture cover everything she is at a loss to say.

* * *

The lavender aroma in Portia’s garden always soothes Nadia, no matter how harrowing her day. Lately, it has been more difficult than usual to keep her spirits up, with how little time Portia has had to spare. They’re always busy, of course, but Nadia’s visiting family has been making the palace more hectic than ever.  

Portia’s breathlessness when she opens the door speaks to that. “Nadia! You’re early. I mean, am I late?”

“You are just fine. My meeting ended early, and it being your day off, I didn’t care to wait.” Nadia bends to scratch Pepi’s ears, earning a grateful peep. To her surprise, the stove isn’t on; instead, ink and parchment clutter the table. Portia hastens to clean it up. “I see you have been practicing your writing.”

“Oh! Yes, I—Princess Nasmira has been helping. Making my letters more formal and proper, you know.”

At Nasmira’s name, Nadia tenses. Pepi’s ears twitch under her fingers. She tries to relax; Nasmira has been a gracious guest, smoothing over tense meetings without overstepping, and there is nothing wrong with Portia seeking her aid.  

“How dedicated. I would enjoy seeing the fruits of your study sometime, then,” Nadia says. The pages Portia is straightening slip from her grasp. She hurries to gather them.

“It’s nothing worth looking at, yet. Well, should we head out? I didn’t have time to bake anything, sorry.”

Though Nadia had been looking forward to unwinding in the cottage, she supposes it is good Portia doesn’t feel obligated to play hostess. While the opportunity remains, she pulls Portia into a kiss that begins softly, deepening as their arms wrap around each other. Savoring the closeness, Nadia sighs against Portia’s mouth. Her lips trail up Portia’s jaw to purr in her ear.

“Are you quite sure about going out?”  

Portia practically vibrates against her. “I’d get ink all over you,” she says, barely sounding put together. “I already almost spilled it on Pepi.”

At her name, a mewl comes from the windowsill where Pepi has perched. Nadia withholds a different sort of sigh and unwinds herself before she can get carried away. “Shall we, then?”  

After taking time to appreciate Portia’s garden, they stroll toward that of the palace with Portia’s hand in the crook of Nadia’s elbow. Like she is especially aware of their pose, Portia’s posture seems straighter than usual. As lovely as she is in her casual dress, the sun freckling her bare shoulders, it is not so hard to imagine her in an ensemble befitting a princess—perhaps red, with sapphires to match her eyes. Nadia pays more mind to the details of that than the details of the palace garden, to her embarrassment when Portia points out new blossoms.

A series of grunts hearkens their arrival at a clearing where Nahara performs intricate maneuvers. She rises, her staff planted in the ground, to greet them.

“We are overdue for a spar, Dia. I can’t imagine those council members are keeping your blade sharp,” Nahara says.

“Only my wits.”

“Some of them, perhaps.” Nadia’s lips twitch, and Nahara offers Portia a nod. “It has been an honor to see how Portia has advanced in her training, as well.”

Portia’s face reddens. Only Nadia’s practice at bluffing prevents her from showing how her mind flies ahead of her. “Of course. Portia has no end of diligence.”

“We didn’t mean to interrupt your training,” Portia offers, and Nadia takes the opportunity to bid Nahara farewell before continuing a tad too quickly. Calculating whether she should ask what Nahara meant concludes she shouldn’t, and Portia does not bring it up, instead running her fingers along a freshly trimmed hedge.

Nadia settles on saying, “Perhaps we should all train together. I would love to see what you are capable of.”

Portia’s fingers jump from the bush. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to either of you.”

That was not the enthusiasm Nadia expected. It leaves her pondering where she erred when they arrive at the fountain, where she hopes the sound of water will clear her head. Instead, she finds Navra on the fountain’s lip, her appearance like the moon in daylight—somehow unexpected, even though it shouldn’t be.

“Oh, hello, Didi! I was just gathering inspiration for textiles. The water weaves like thread on a loom, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t say that’s the pattern that comes to mind.”

“It’s the _feel_ of it, the fluidity.” Her attention turns to Portia, a crescent moon waxing in a blink. “Come by the ballroom again, and I’ll show you.”

“We haven’t the time,” Nadia says, pulling Portia along.

“Good luck with your weaving,” Portia calls back, as always saving Nadia when she forgoes grace. It does not save her mood. Perhaps she and Portia should duck into the mazes, get lost somewhere where nobody will bother them. Unfortunately, that is not the most natural path, and far be it for her to let her sisters affect her course.

To her chagrin, the path leads them to the veranda, where Natiqa is all too happy to update Portia on some joke she—or both?—have played on a politician. If Nafizah were not attending to duties at home with their parents, then no doubt she’d appear in a cloud to give Portia abstract lectures on turtle care.

Though she’s not eager to enter the palace, Nadia guides Portia through the back entrance. Perhaps they can arrange for tea in her chambers. It’s not at all unpleasant to think of feeding Portia cake until she flusters.

Before they get far, Nazali steps out of the library wing with books tucked under their arm. “Ah, there you are.”

“Yes, here I am. Or did you mean Portia?”

“She requested my help with a few texts.”

“Of course she did. Unfortunately, Portia and I have a rather full afternoon ahead of us.” Portia’s face flickers with disappointment, and something in Nadia’s heart bursts. She throws up a hand. “Or not! I am no tyrant, demanding anyone’s time, least of all my partner’s.”

“Nadia, please,” Portia says. Her grip on Nadia’s elbow brings her back. Shame over losing her composure at Portia of all people makes her flounder.

“I, I am merely saying, you of course have free reign to decide who, that is, how you would like to spend your day.”

“As much as I love drama, you both know how to find me,” Nazali says. To Portia, they add, “Tell Ilya he owes me a round of cards.”

Their quiet exit leaves the hall stifling still. Aware of the guards pretending not to listen, Nadia counts breaths in her head. She flubs the first set. “Perhaps you should take them up on that. I require a moment in my contemplation tower,” she says as evenly as she can manage.

Portia bites her lip. “Are you sure?”

With Portia making that face, it is hard to be. However, since Nadia allowed her third eye to open, it has been all the more obvious when her intuition is clouded. It is always a struggle to fly on through such murky air. A countess cannot afford to be so affected. Even if others see her as sulking, she has learned she must take any opportunity to clear her skies.

“I will see you shortly,” Nadia says, and leaves before she can say something she’ll regret.

* * *

Nadia climbs the winding steps to her contemplation tower, where she once sealed herself away when she decided the world no longer needed her. She settles cross-legged in the middle of the chamber and closes all but her third eye. The soft rush of a waterfall carries her thoughts; Chandra must receive them, as the owl is soon cooing by her knee.

“At least you always come to me,” Nadia says, as fond as she is bitter, and turns her attention to the owl. Chandra hops in little half-flights as she chases her mechanical mouse. When Nadia invented it, the delight emanating from her old companion had pleased her. Now she’s aware of its amateurish tinkering, frivolous, even, compared to some of the things Navra can create.

It is true her martial skills are not as honed as Nahara’s, and that she has never composed a letter with Nasmira’s charm. She has had more than enough time to catch up to her siblings. If they appear more capable, she has only herself to blame.

And if… If Portia deems their companionship more desirable, perhaps Nadia overstepped by bringing up marriage. Perhaps discomfort at it pushed Portia away, toward a princess who can carry her across the sea to a proper palace.

The idea that Portia has only been obliging her swirls like a whirlpool, sucking in increasingly awful implications. It leaves no room for further contemplation. Portia is the only one who can settle her fears for good.

* * *

Nadia lounges by her chamber windows, a fresh gown providing new armor for the war in her chest. The knock on the door, even if more tentative than usual, is unmistakable. “Come in.”

Portia hovers halfway through the door until Nadia swings her legs off of the sofa to make room for her. Up close, her puffy eyes spear all the cracks in Nadia’s guard.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” Portia says. “I know how you feel about your sisters, I—”

Nadia cuts her off with a hand at her cheek, stroking the skin as if she can rub off the rawness. “Do you, now.” Despite her gesture, she can’t keep the tartness from her tone.

“I, I think so?”

“If you do, you are more talented than I imagined. Even I was in denial until just now.”

“About what?”

Nadia withdraws to adjust the curtain. The sun has begun setting, dressing the opal palette of her room in warm hues and creeping shadows. “My childhood is quite behind me, as is my need to prove myself—or so I thought. Seeing how easily you relied on my sisters opened wounds I thought closed.”

“I… I’m sorry. I never wanted to do that.”

“You are not to blame. Even when I made friends growing up, my sisters would steal them away. Such a large family should not make this so, but it is too easy to end up alone, with the lot of them around.”

To Nadia’s surprise, Portia seizes her hands, more boldly than she once would have dared. “Nobody’s going to steal me away. They’d have to kidnap me, and even then I’d break free.”

“You’d have to be swift to do so before I rescued you.”

“I’m up to a challenge.” Portia winks. Despite the absurd tangent, Nadia smiles. Somehow Portia always makes it feel ridiculous to remain morose.

“I’m afraid I have acted immaturely. I apologize. You have a right to learn from others, and to your privacy,” Nadia says.

“Naw, I would’ve thought the same thing. Ilya got to do all the cool things growing up.”

“Ah, the lot of us younger sisters, I suppose.”

“What, to be the most awesome and resourceful members of our family?”

“Quite.”

Portia sobers, smoothing her skirt between her knees. “I guess you can’t knock experience, though. Don’t get me wrong, my grandmas were kickass, but they taught me how to make bread pudding and use a slingshot, not run a city or ballroom dance.”

If not for the mood, Nadia would have asked about the slingshot. “Then why did you not come to me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me? Good heavens, Portia, you are my beloved. You are as entitled as anyone to my attention.”

“It’s not about that. I—I’m gonna be a princess’s consort someday, maybe, and—oh, how am I supposed to sweep you off your feet if you have to show me how?”

This time, Nadia can’t resist a bark of laughter. Portia looks ashamed. “Forgive me,” Nadia says. “It’s just that you have already, as you put it, swept me off my feet. You are the one I want at my side, not a project for me to fix up. That said, I never intended to throw you to the lions without making sure you were prepared. That is—that is the only reason I have not yet proposed.” The admittance makes her feel as vulnerable as Portia looks.

“Really? You mean that?”

“Yes. Well, that and I need to prepare an absolutely stunning venue and speech for the occasion, of course.”

“Of, of course. Here I was just going to roll over in bed like, ‘let’s stay here forever.’”

“I can’t say I would be opposed. I must admit, I hold few romantic notions about marriage, but I very much hope to go through life with you at my side.”

She takes Portia’s hands again, delicately this time, but Portia throws her arms around Nadia’s neck. “Yes, yes, oh my god, that would be the most amazing thing ever, yes—”

“Easy, now,” Nadia says, unable to hide how pleased she is as she rubs Portia’s back. “I still have to propose.”

“Good, because I’m still awful at writing love letters.”

“That’s what you were practicing before?”

“Let’s just say they were rough drafts.” Though she groans, Portia remains tucked in the crook of Nadia’s neck, where Nadia is quite happy to keep her.

 


End file.
